Mischief Managed
by Rule23
Summary: Fred lingers a little after death.


**Disclaimer**_**: **_Anything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling. No money is being made from this. The initial dialogue is taken directly from Deathly Hallows.

**Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition – Season Seven – Round Nine**

**Beater 2 for the Tutshill Tornados**

**Round Nine: Long Live (the) Queen**

This round is a tribute to the legendary rock band, Queen, and its iconic lead singer and pianist, Freddie Mercury. Each position's stories should be inspired by the Queen song allocated to them. But, there's a catch! Your story should contain at least one line of lyric from the song. Please mention what lyric you've used in your a/n!

**BEATER 2**: Don't Stop Me Now

Lyrics used: "Don't stop me now" and "I feel alive"

**Additional Prompts:**

(character) Fred Weasley

(lyric) "So much to do in one lifetime" from I Want It All

**Thanks to the Tutshill Tornados for betaing!**

**Warnings: Character death.**

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Mischief Managed

Words: 1238

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"Hello, Minister!" Percy sends a nasty looking jinx directly into the face of his employer. "Did I mention I'm resigning?"

Fred can't believe it; this isn't the stuffy, pompous brother he remembers. "You're joking, Perce!"

Fred shoots a stunner at the Death Eater before him as Percy sends Thicknesse tumbling to the ground, now little more than a spiky mass of goop. He turns to his brother, sees his bright grin and beams back at him.

"You actually _are _joking, Perce… I don't think I've heard you joke since you were—"

The world explodes.

A shockwave of magic tears through the air.

It knocks Fred to the floor, but he rolls to his feet, wand raised. His ears ring with the aftershocks, but the screams he hears pierce his heart.

An unfamiliar voice echoes from behind him.

FRED WEASLEY?

"Don't stop me now," Fred calls without looking back. "Someone needs help. Can't you hear the screams?"

YOU'RE IN NO CONDITION TO HELP ANYBODY.

Fred spins and comes face to face with a Death Eater. He raises his wand, but an outstretched hand makes him pause. A hand of bleach-white bone.

"What the—?" He automatically bites back the curse word out of an ever-present fear that his mum is always just within earshot.

AH, NOW YOU'RE GETTING IT. The voice doesn't come from the figure's mouth. It doesn't seem to come from anywhere in particular.

Not a Death Eater.

Death.

"But…" Fred spins around, seeing his own body lying prostrate on the flagstones, scarlet blood dripping from one ear as Percy desperately shakes him. Ron is simply kneeling by his head, hunching over, whilst Harry and Hermione try to pull Percy to his feet. "But I feel so alive."

He examines himself. He feels the same as he always has. He can still feel the magic that runs through his veins.

"I can't be dead."

PEOPLE ALWAYS SAY THAT, AND THEY ALWAYS ARE.

"That's not helpful," Fred snaps at the figure he has always thought was a figment of Beedle's imagination.

I'M NOT HERE TO BE HELPFUL. I'M HERE TO TAKE YOU ONWARDS.

"What if I don't want to go on?" How can he possibly continue on without George? Without his other half? He doesn't even know where his twin is.

THEN BY ALL MEANS, STAY. AS A WIZARD, YOU HAVE THAT LUXURY.

"And become a ghost? Like Nick or Myrtle?" He shudders at the thought of spending eternity trapped in the plumbing.

I DO NOT REMEMBER ALL OF THEIR NAMES.

Death taps his skeletal foot, the effect rather anticlimactic as his incorporeal foot simply disappears into the flagstones on each downward beat.

"Can I have some time to decide?" Fred asks. "It's an important decision. Requires serious consideration."

Fred knows what his eventual decision will be, but he isn't ready to leave just yet. He has someone to see.

Death throws up his arms in a dramatic shrug. FINE. I'M GOING TO BE HERE ALL NIGHT ANYWAY.

"That's pretty bleak," Fred says with a half-smile.

I AM DEATH. WERE YOU EXPECTING SUNSHINE AND RAINBOWS?

"I suppose not. How will I find you?"

YOU WON'T. I WILL FIND YOU.

"Death will always find me? That's not creepy at all," Fred mutters.

Death doesn't dignify his mumblings with a response and instead melts into nothingness. Like he was never there at all.

Fred isn't able to watch as they drag his body behind a suit of armour for safekeeping. He moves on without a backward glance.

He wanders the castle, ambling through his favourite passageways and recalling the mischief he and George got up to during their school days. They'd really made the most out of life. Doing anything for a good time.

He isn't sure how long it's been since he died. It's still a difficult thing to think about, to reconcile. There's so much to do in one lifetime, and he has barely scratched the surface. _Had_, he thinks. _Not has_. He is now most definitely past tense.

In a strange way, he's a little annoyed that the chance to fight until the end has been ripped away from him. He was enjoying it. Fighting alongside his previously estranged brother was exhilarating. Percy has more Weasley in him than Fred ever gave him credit for. He wishes George had been there too, in his last moments.

He and George were going to see the world when the war was over and done with. They were supposed to see everything, do everything. And now, George will be doing it alone. If he does it at all.

His no-longer-corporeal feet lead him to the Great Hall. A place so familiar and yet so foreign. The long tables are pushed up against the wall. The ceiling is just that, its magic damaged. With Dumbledore long dead, he wonders if there is anyone left with the skill it would take to repair the enchantment. Future generations will step into Hogwarts for the first time and won't be able to see the stars.

People fill the room, but there's none of the happy smiles and raucous laughter he's used to. Tears course down cheeks, blood (scarlet like his own had been) leaks from wounds, and some people lie as still and quiet as the grave.

His eyes are drawn to a family of grieving redheads. His family.

George kneels at the head of his body, fat tears dripping from his cheeks and onto Fred's forehead. How is he supposed to go on without George? How is George supposed to go on without him?

Fred moves closer, resting his hand lightly on his twin's shoulder. Instead of touching something solid, he feels like he's resting his hand on pure energy. On his brother's soul.

They've had a good life together. A life of trouble and explosions. A life of laughter and games and pranks. Lots of pranks. They'd worked hard together. Kept each other going through long nights of potions experiments. Helped each other deal with unexpected and often painful side-effects. Climbed into one another's beds when nightmares had plagued them. Laughed their way through detentions and heartbreaks alike.

George will have to do those things alone now. But Fred will watch over him. Fred will be waiting for him in the whoopie cushion aisle when George finally finishes the ride that is his mortal coil.

Fred has crashed.

But George will keep moving forward.

FRED WEASLEY? Death asks again.

Fred spins around, turning his back on his family. The family that will get George through this.

"Back so soon?"

YOU ARE READY.

It isn't a question.

"I suppose I am," Fred says with a shrug. He'd been having such a good time, but it's over now. There isn't much more he can do here. He has to move on.

He takes a last look around the Great Hall, absorbing the grief and chaos. He looks to his family one last time. To George.

And he notices that Harry Potter is nowhere to be seen.

"Before we leave, can you tell me who wins?"

I THINK YOU ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT ONE.

Fred smiles. Harry will win. He's always known it. Even when others doubted, he and George just knew. They believed.

Death reaches out with a skeletal hand and, just as Fred takes it with his own, he says his last words.

"Mischief managed."

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THE END


End file.
